Title: When The Music’s Over

Author/Pseudonym: Silk

Fandom: JAG/La Femme Nikita

Pairing: Clark Palmer/Operations

Category: Crossover, PWP

Rating: NC-17 (with a vengeance)

Date: 11/20/00

E-mail: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Status: New, Complete

Summary: Push comes to shove, Section-style. A sudden lack of manpower leads to Operations’ comeuppance at the hands of a self-styled rogue CIA agent.

Disclaimers: None of the characters belong to me, and this piece of fiction was written for entertainment, not profit.

Warnings: m/m, kink (dom/sub, light whipping), rough sex, bad language, spoilers for bits and pieces of Season 4 LFN

Notes: This was written for Gail, who asked more than nicely. It was *my* idea to pair her beloved Palmer with my wretched Ops. (And this is *her* Palmer, late of the Eclipse series.) Any flaws in Palmer’s characterization belong to me. I’m just borrowing him. I hope I can do him justice. This was also written for Tinnean. She’s a constant source of inspiration. Good things do come to those who wait, Tinn. The badder, the better. Just the way we like it.

When The Music’s Over

By Silk

“I don’t like using other agencies for resources, Madeline. You know that. No one else can do what we do. If we start forgetting that, we’re no better than the CIA.”

The man known as Operations snapped his cell phone shut with a loud crack. Madeline was pissing him off lately. She wanted his job. She thought he didn’t know just how ambitious she was. Or she didn’t care. But this constant game of oneupsmanship was wearing on his nerves.

If she weren’t still useful to him, he would cancel her in a heartbeat. After all, she had turned him out of her bed years ago. Their affair had burned hotter than hellfire for a long time. But she wanted *more*. She craved *variety*. One man would never satisfy her. Which was just as well. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her.

It wasn’t enough just to make herself look *good*. She needed to make *him* look *bad*. Well, he would turn her “alternative resources” into acceptable collateral the moment they crossed the threshold of *his* Section.

***

Clark Palmer didn’t know anything about Section One or Paul Wolfe. But that didn’t bother him one bit. He was used to getting creative on scanty intel. Good agents thrived on situations that forced them to hone their improvisational skills. His new boss, Clayton Webb, would heartily approve of his subordinate’s sudden desire to become a team player for the CIA. Late of the DSD, Palmer had all the instincts of an experienced in-fighter with none of the disadvantages less illustrious operatives could pick up. Things like…loyalty.

Well, Clark was well-used to looking out for Number One, and his recent alliance with the CIA meant far less to him than pleasing Webb. Hmm…he would have to explore why that mattered so much to him. However, he was not a man given to heavy introspection, and it would have to take a back seat to his present concern.

Infiltrating Section.

***

“What do you mean, you don’t have enough manpower for the Iberia mission? What happened to Davenport’s team?”

Quinn looked coolly at the head of Section One. Perhaps he was having a breakdown. Didn’t he realize that Davenport was dead? “Sir, Michael killed Davenport,” she explained patiently, as if to a child.

Operations looked right through the young woman. Quinn stopped chewing her gum and closed her mouth with an audible noise. “Perhaps you would like to join him.”

Quinn blinked. “Um…no, sir.”

“Then tell me what happened to Davenport’s team.” He held up a hand to forestall any further protests over the health (or lack thereof) of certain Level 5 operatives. “I *know* what happened to Davenport, Quinn. But once upon a time, he had a team. It consisted of Mintz and Taylor and…”

Realization dawned on Quinn’s youthful face. “Ohhh…the men he usually worked with.”

“That’s what a team is, Quinn.”

Jason Crawford rocked back in his chair, the toes of his boots barely able to touch the floor. Giving a bemused snort, he said sarcastically, “Someone wasn’t paying attention in class.”

“Fuck off, you under-developed computer geek!” Quinn exploded, clapping a hand over her mouth when she realized what she’d said in front of Operations.

“Ooh, she loves me!” Jason chortled.

Operations’ pale blue eyes glowed with an incandescent energy. “Quinn! My office.”

Jason snickered behind his hand, his dark brown eyes dancing. There *was* justice in the world, after all.

***

Quinn felt distinctly uneasy. She could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she had been inside the Perch. Since all of those times involved reprimands, they were not *happy* memories.

“If…” Operations paused for effect. He hardly needed to. He was scaring the bejesus out of Quinn, and he knew it. There was actually little that the young woman was afraid of, but he knew how to push her buttons. “…Davenport is dead, he has no further use for those operatives. Therefore…I would like you to tell me where all of my operatives have gone.”

“Sir?” Quinn began to sweat. If there was one thing that you didn’t do, it was to betray Madeline. Operations might think he was in charge of running One, but Madeline held the reins of power in her delicate hands, and since Madeline indulged mistakes with even less alacrity than Operations, Quinn was truly worried.

“Didn’t you get the memo?” she asked with considerable trepidation.

“What fucking memo?” he bellowed, all of the hostility he felt towards Madeline directed at Quinn. A much more accessible target.

Uh-oh, Quinn thought, it was a *secret* memo.

“A-about the manpower shortage, sir.”

Operations’ handsome face turned dark red. Quinn studied him from beneath her shaggy brown bangs. He *really* needed to do something about his blood pressure.

***

Intimidation. One of the best tools at an operative’s command. Clark Palmer knew all about intimidation. Used well, it could cut through endless hours of interrogation.

It set a certain tone for a relationship.

Palmer strode almost militantly into Section One, his taut, muscular frame betraying none of the anticipatory excitement he felt at meeting Paul Wolfe for the first time. He could just hear Webb now. *This* is infiltration? *This* is your idea of sneaking through Section’s defenses in an unobtrusive way? What is fucking *wrong* with you, Clark?

But he knew what he was doing. Webb had coolly informed Palmer that he was here at Madeline’s behest. Unbeknownst to Paul Wolfe. Because it smacked of inter- as well as intra-agency intrigue, Palmer was enjoying himself. He didn’t mind being the monkey wrench in the works.

He ran a hand smoothly over his close-cropped hair. Webb was probably jealous. He didn’t want anyone fucking with Palmer but him. And though he would never admit such a thing to Webb, Palmer felt the same way. He had a nasty feeling that he was starting to have *real* feelings for the CIA agent, and that almost always led to trouble.

But in the absence of a commitment between them, Palmer didn’t mind indulging the darker side of his nature one more time. But there was one thing that was perfectly clear to him.

This might be a fuck or be fucked world.

But he didn’t come here to be fucked.

***

Operations was preparing to take a shower when the knock on the door came. Frowning, the head of Section One shrugged into his silk dressing gown, tying it loosely around his waist.

“I thought I said I didn’t wish to be disturbed. If this is—“ He yanked open the door, stunned to find himself staring into the eyes of Clark Palmer.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Palmer never flinched. “I’ll ask the questions.” Pushing past Operations with a brusque shove, he noted at once that the older man was wearing nothing beneath his robe.

Well, well, he was not a bad looking man at all. This wouldn’t be too hard on his libido. His hair was salt-and-pepper, but his eyes were a striking shade of pale blue. Glacial. He looked every bit as ruthless as someone in his position must be.

“Lock the door,” Palmer directed.

Without thinking, Operations did as he was told. Then he did a slow burn, an almost feverish look heating up those icy eyes. “I asked you a question. Who *are* you?” Suddenly there was a gun. Aimed at Palmer.

Palmer had to give the man credit. He moved quickly for someone so long out of fieldwork. But Palmer’s experience was much too recent for him to let that pass. Disarming Operations was not that difficult. But the ensuing struggle was.

“Let me go!”

Palmer wrenched Wolfe’s hands behind his back and twisted. This would do no permanent damage, but it would certainly encourage him to cooperate.

“You’re a dead man. Do you hear me?” Operations spat.

“Maybe,” Palmer said with a curious smile.

Operations continued to jerk his body back and forth in a futile effort to free himself, but Palmer had a feeling that now he was doing it because it was expected. If he had to guess, he would say that Operations *liked* the feel of Palmer’s hands on him.

Well, that would figure, wouldn’t it? A man with so much power at his fingertips rarely met an equal. Or even someone unafraid to treat him as he deserved to be treated.

“You can kill me later, Paul. Can I call you Paul?”

“You can go to Hell!” Operations snarled.

Palmer pulled Wolfe’s hands higher on his back, provoking a fresh wave of pain in his wrists. “Someone thinks you need to be taught a lesson, Paul.”

Operations made an inarticulate noise.

“Someone thinks you don’t understand what it’s like to be well and truly *fucked*.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Operations gasped with a trace of something very like fear.

“Did I mention how much I appreciate the excellent job you did of soundproofing this part of Section? What is it called again? The Tower?’

Operations opened his mouth to scream, but the look in Palmer’s eyes told him that was what he wanted. He closed his mouth again, setting it mutinously. “You’ll never get away with this.”

“Oh, but I will. This is in the nature of…hmm…I think they call it…inter-agency good will.”

“You’re sick.”

Palmer considered that for a moment. “Not really. Ruthless, maybe.” He smiled. “But then so are you. A man after my own…heart.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “But right now, I want your ass in that bed. We’ve got some preliminaries to get through.”

***

When Wolfe was seated on the bed, Palmer gave him another hard shove, knocking him flat on his back. “I said, lie down. This is lesson #1. When I tell you to do something, you *do* it.”

Operations blinked slowly, plotting his vengeance against the tall, lean intruder. “Or what?”

“Or…I introduce you to my friend here.” Palmer proceeded to remove his clothing, folding it in a neat stack on a nearby chair.

“Your dick is your friend?” Operations sneered.

“No, I was referring to this, actually,” Palmer clarified, pulling an implement of some kind from his dufflebag.

Standing there naked, feet wide apart, his half-erect cock clearly drew the older man’s attention, but that wasn’t what Palmer was referring to. He was holding something that at first glance looked like a riding crop, but wasn’t. A velvet thong protruded from the smooth, slender handle.

“What’s that for?”

Palmer snapped the thong, and it made a soft hissing noise as it cut the air. “This is for bad boys.”

He took the handle, which not so incidentally was shaped like a small penis, into his mouth, then licked the end of it, his tongue flicking out to caress the satiny surface.

“Or for extremely *good* ones.”

Despite the circumstances, Operations felt himself grow hard. Fighting the urge to beg for a taste of that tongue on him, Operations swallowed audibly.

“You can’t do that to me,” he said softly, sounding like he wasn’t totally convinced anymore.

“Oh, yes, I can. And you can’t stop me.”

That alone was enough to send shivers of white-hot and blue-cold up and down his spine.

“Now turn over.”

“No.”

“Turn over!”

“Never!”

The velvet thong hit Wolfe’s still-muscular upper thigh.

“Turn over.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fuck you stupid…and then…I’m going to start all over again.”

The man known as Operations quivered. He had done his share of fucking in his time, but he had never been fucked. It was a piece of himself he refused to surrender to anyone.

He rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes, unconsciously tightening his entire body. “Why, Paul, I would almost think you didn’t like this.”

“I don’t.”

Palmer had his work cut out for him. Operations was one of those people who could only enjoy it if he thought there was no possible way to resist. Well, that could be arranged.

Palmer tied Operations’ hands, one to each side of the bed. Kicking his legs wide apart to spread his ass, Palmer deliberately didn’t use any particular finesse. This was not a man who would appreciate the tickle of a feather. He needed the whole chicken.

He ran his hands lightly over Operations’ buttocks, trailing a finger down the shadowy cleft that ran between. Operations arched his body up and away from the intruding finger. “Did I say you could move, Paul? I don’t think so.”

He straddled Operations’ legs, his half-erect cock leaking moisture from the tip. He let the end of the thong drag across his buttocks, as gentle as a caress, before he cracked it hard, like a whip.

Operations jumped, quite literally, several inches off the bed. No one dared touch him like this. No one. No *one*.

Palmer got up and stood over Operations, contemplating what to do next. He pushed the older man onto his back, and the sharp cry Operations tried to conceal was ample proof that the thong stung where it struck his skin. Twirling the end of the thong, he circled and circled and circled until finally…the thong wrapped itself around the end of Wolfe’s dick. Giving it a gentle tug, Palmer was delighted to see the older man’s response. A full-blown erection. Very nice.

For just a moment, Palmer let the Section head think that he was going to touch him, with his hand, with his mouth, and then, with a tantalizing move, he pushed Operations back onto his stomach. “You like this, don’t you?”

No answer.

Palmer cracked the thong, its velvety tip caressing and reddening the skin where it hit. Careful not to break the skin, Palmer used just enough force to make the blows tingle.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Admit it!”

“No, no, no!”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“Goddamn you! Y-yes!”

Heaving a great sigh of relief, for Palmer truly disliked working *too* hard at something that should be play, he slid down to his knees, spread Paul’s ass wide and licked the puckered opening.

“Unh!” Paul Wolfe’s fists clutched at the bedcovers. That felt too good to be real.

Again and again, Palmer licked and lapped gently at the older man’s exposed entrance. Squirming now, Operations was no longer fighting Palmer.

“You want to come, don’t you?”

Operations’ only answer was a submissive groan.

Palmer applied a large amount of lube to the handle of the thong, savoring the exact moment when he would penetrate Wolfe’s body for the first time. Without any warning, he began to insert the well-slicked handle, which effectively doubled as a sex toy, into the virgin channel.

Operations tensed, and Palmer slapped the left cheek of his buttocks, leaving a hot, red imprint there. “Hold still, or I can make this *really* hurt.”

Slowly introducing the handle, he worked the lube back and forth and all around the snug track. He hit Operations’ prostate, and the older man’s subsequent yelp of undeniable satisfaction was loud and almost palpable.

Palmer smiled. He wanted to feel that. He liked a virgin ass. He wanted to be the one to teach this ruthless cocksucker what it felt like to have someone balls-deep in his ass.

He withdrew the handle slowly, and he could hear the low hiss that passed between Operations’ clenched teeth. “You want my cock inside you, don’t you?”

“No!”

“Yes, you do, you fucking son of a bitch!”

With that, Palmer took the thong and snapped it across Operations’ back. “On your knees! Now!”

Operations reluctantly moved into position, but Palmer took exception to how slow he did so, cracking the thong again. Palmer inserted a finger, checking to see how lubricated he was.

Palmer liked it rough, but he didn’t want to tear up anything important. Webb would never forgive him.

Adding another generous dollop of lube to the area, Palmer began working an additional finger inside Wolfe’s ass. By the time he was three fingers wide, Operations was more than ready. Whether he wanted to be or not.

To guarantee no unexpected complications at a crucial moment, Palmer wrapped the thong’s length around Operations’ neck. “I’m going to ride you, you arrogant fuck.”

Lubing his own swollen cock, which even now throbbed to be inside that taut, muscular ass, Palmer had to be careful in touching himself. Otherwise, it would all be over before it started.

He pressed the head of his cock at the beginning of Wolfe’s passageway, and he heard Operations’ sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, yessss…” came the long, drawn-out sigh.

Thrusting inside, Palmer didn’t wait for Operations to adjust to the size and shape of him. He was hot, hotter than hot, and ready to pop off just from the feel of sliding deep inside such moist, welcoming heat. Before long, it was true. He *was* balls-deep in his ass, pumping away as if nothing else mattered.

“Oh, God!”

His balls smacked against Operations’, that wonderful wet, flesh against flesh sound that made him want to come. His hands involuntarily tightening on the thong that held Operations prisoner, he dimly registered Operations’ sudden fit of coughing. Serve you right, you dumb bastard, the way you treat your own people, Palmer thought, releasing his grip. But you’re still a damn good fuck, I’ll give you that.

“Please…”

Suddenly Palmer realized that Operations was begging. He *liked* that in a prisoner. “Yes, Paul?”

“Please let me come.”

Palmer paused as if to consider it. Well, *he* wasn’t the heartless bastard here, was he?

Positioning himself for a deeper, harder series of thrusts, Palmer was so hot, he nearly lost his rhythm. But it didn’t matter. He would come soon.

Grasping Wolfe’s dick in his hands, he began to pump furiously, trying to match the shuddering pulse that throbbed deep inside his own cock. Wolfe bucked, spurting long jets of come all over Palmer’s slippery hands. With Operations’ inner muscles clenching and convulsing around Palmer’s cock, Palmer bore down and thrust one last time, filling Wolfe with hot, wet fluid, biting his shoulder at the moment of maximum impact.

He collapsed on top of the older man, panting as though he was being chased by Death. Whispering into Operations’ ear, he said, “We’re done here. You’ll forgive me for the fuck and run, but I know if I untie you now, you’ll try to have me killed. I respect that. It’s what I would do.”

To his immense surprise, the man formerly known as Paul Wolfe turned over, inasmuch as he could, his wrists still tightly bound, a sardonic grin gracing his handsome face.

“Oh, I don’t want you cancelled.”

“I want you to come back.”

End